Two Hearts
I wish I had two hearts,
For one heart is not enough to contain my love for you.
I have been afflicted with this love,
While love benefits others
For they find in it contact, perfume, and tenderness
But I only gain the anguish of separation...
And also some poems.
I am not a masochist like the poets Qais* or Jamil*
To rejoice the fires kindled in my heart
And I am not a platonic lover who finds sorrow pleasant
But a poet who follows his mind, beside his heart,
Singing praise to the Creator, like a bird
Which continues to sing, even if traps abound around the fields.
Let love contain us,
For it does us no good to contain it,
For love is difficult and stubborn
With many snares.
It does us no harm to end up as its prey.
If it throws its nets upon us,
It will feed us plentifully from its palms.
And then we become bound in love.
Neither the heart will be tortured, nor rejection possible.
Our two hearts will then melt into one heart,
Never afflicted by what come may.
*Qais and Jameel are well-known Arab
poets from ancient times
Soliloquy of a Grand Tree
An exhausted traveller takes to my shade,
He shuts his eyelids and sleeps soundly.
He dreams and dreams.
Absolute quietness falls over the world
And darkness shrouds the Earth.
A rosy thread emanates from the east
The birds take to my branches and sing
The leaves dance under the gentle breeze,
The fragrance intermingles with the music,
A refreshed face slowly opens its eyes
Like an egg hatching
Happiness sparkles in his half-opened eyes
The smile spreads its wings and rests on his lips.
When the leaves dry up on my branches
And all my umbrageous shade leaves for ever.
The wood-cutters whirl their axes at my trunk
But I might become a bench in a garden cradling lovers,
Or a window through which the rays of sunrise seep,
Or my wood might be converted into paper
On which would be written love poems or letters of longing,
Or I might be cut into wood for the fire place
And radiate warmth copiously
And feel that even at the moment of my extinction
I could still be creative!
New Year’s Eve
The longer pointer embraces the other
At the top of the disc of time.
And at the moment of fusion,
One year falls dead,
One year is born.
No pangs of a mother
Just the familiar chime
Then a wave of ecstatic emotion
As humans embrace each other
And glasses kiss and cluster.
Yet well beyond the din and sway -
As always when folly crosses my way -
My thoughts go galloping far away
And the enchanting Muse - like Sleeping Beauty -
Wakes up to whisper into my ear:
"Is this a moment for ecstasy?
"Or really a moment for mourning?"
Then quickly adds in a fainter whisper:
"Or is it just like any other?"
And after some reflection I say:
"None of these is right
"It's a moment to think and ponder
"Or else a moment to pray"
And whilst a year is born around me
A poem struggles to see the light
Before the break of day.
For one heart is not enough to contain my love for you.
I have been afflicted with this love,
While love benefits others
For they find in it contact, perfume, and tenderness
But I only gain the anguish of separation...
And also some poems.
I am not a masochist like the poets Qais* or Jamil*
To rejoice the fires kindled in my heart
And I am not a platonic lover who finds sorrow pleasant
But a poet who follows his mind, beside his heart,
Singing praise to the Creator, like a bird
Which continues to sing, even if traps abound around the fields.
Let love contain us,
For it does us no good to contain it,
For love is difficult and stubborn
With many snares.
It does us no harm to end up as its prey.
If it throws its nets upon us,
It will feed us plentifully from its palms.
And then we become bound in love.
Neither the heart will be tortured, nor rejection possible.
Our two hearts will then melt into one heart,
Never afflicted by what come may.
He shuts his eyelids and sleeps soundly.
He dreams and dreams.
Absolute quietness falls over the world
And darkness shrouds the Earth.
The birds take to my branches and sing
The leaves dance under the gentle breeze,
The fragrance intermingles with the music,
A refreshed face slowly opens its eyes
Like an egg hatching
Happiness sparkles in his half-opened eyes
The smile spreads its wings and rests on his lips.
When the leaves dry up on my branches
And all my umbrageous shade leaves for ever.
The wood-cutters whirl their axes at my trunk
But I might become a bench in a garden cradling lovers,
Or a window through which the rays of sunrise seep,
Or my wood might be converted into paper
On which would be written love poems or letters of longing,
Or I might be cut into wood for the fire place
And radiate warmth copiously
And feel that even at the moment of my extinction
I could still be creative!
At the top of the disc of time.
And at the moment of fusion,
One year falls dead,
One year is born.
No pangs of a mother
Just the familiar chime
Then a wave of ecstatic emotion
As humans embrace each other
And glasses kiss and cluster.
Yet well beyond the din and sway -
As always when folly crosses my way -
My thoughts go galloping far away
And the enchanting Muse - like Sleeping Beauty -
Wakes up to whisper into my ear:
"Is this a moment for ecstasy?
"Or really a moment for mourning?"
Then quickly adds in a fainter whisper:
"Or is it just like any other?"
And after some reflection I say:
"None of these is right
"It's a moment to think and ponder
"Or else a moment to pray"
And whilst a year is born around me
A poem struggles to see the light
Before the break of day.